This is hard to believe but there's a group of women in Spain - called doulas - who - despite a lack of qualifications - provide fee-based services to pregnant women. Needless to say, the country's nurses and midwives (matronas) are not too happy with this and are seeking to have them banned. They've even accused the doulas of promoting 'cannibalistic practices', i. e. encouraging the mothers to eat their own 'nutricious' placenta.
In Spain's dark world of its corporate-political-judicial nexus (la casta) there's a (very) occasional flash of light. Here's a report on one of these, opening with:- Bankers never go to jail. This is one of the unwritten new laws to which most of us have grown wearily accustomed in this new post-crisis reality. Also begrudgingly taken for granted is the fact that a banker’s fortune will never be seized or confiscated by the authorities; in today’s new Gilded Age a banker’s gains, whether ill-gotten or not, are his or hers until death do them part. However, nobody seems to have told any of this to Fernando Andreu.
The other thing that regularly astonishes us foreign observers is that politicians indicted for corruption refuse to leave their posts, as is happening down in Andalucia at the moment. Such chutzpah. And then there are those who are voted back into office while still in prison . . . .
Being more positive . . . Who'd have thought it? The Master Brewer at London's most central micro-brewery is a Spanish lady, called Vanesa de Blas Montoya. More here.
The Spanish for fur or animal coat is pelaje. It figures in these expressions:-
- De todo pelaje: Of every kind
- De distintas pelajes: Of different kinds
- Tenía muy mal pelaje: He looked very suspicious
- No me gusta nada el pelaje de esa gente: I don't like the look of them at all
- Y otros de ese pelaje: And others of that ilk.
I have 2 wonderful daughters. Here's why I'm relieved they're not teenagers in the UK. Especially as I have no idea how I'd deal with the challenge.
Down at Pontevedra station, they're making their latest attempt to stop drivers parking where they shouldn't - zebra turds. Something I've not seen anywhere else.
These may turn out to be more effective than the chevrons you can see below them but the only thing guaranteed is that, if you've dropped off someone with heavy luggage and want to then go into el parking, you have to exit the station concourse, negotiate a nearby roundabout, return to the station and then make a sharp right before stopping at the ticket dispenser. Unless you're 6 foot 3, you'll then find you can't reach the button and have to unclip you seat belt, open your door and lean out. Progress.
Finally . . . The power of the pen. No sooner do I feature here the parlous state of our contenadores, than we're presented with an additional bin for plastics. Now we await one for our 'organics'. The green one.
Footnote: Yes, the second mention of 'sex' did also send the readership stats soaring. As this one might.